


A New Life

by historiareiss



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:52:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/historiareiss/pseuds/historiareiss
Summary: Villanelle and Konstantin's early interactions. Oksana sheds her former skin off, and starts a new life in Paris, taking on the Twelve's first assignment.





	A New Life

This is her new life, or so they tell her. She's barely 24, fresh out of prison, a past of violence and abuse, socio- and psycho-pathic behaviour, or so the dull man in front of her claims.

She almost snaps at the mention of her “ _fleeting and promiscuous relationships_ ” in between all that. Is it even his business? What does he know? And if he means Anna by that, then...

Konstantin, the handler who's been assigned to her, has to take hold of her wrist at once, so that she won't strangle the officer here and now, or whoever that guy with the salt-and-pepper beard is.

The two like to think that they can manage her, and she lets them believe that. Apparently these people will give her anything she wants, and at such a small price that she could scarcely believe her ears when they spirited her away from that stinky cell and stated their terms.

“She will have to go through assessment on a regular basis. Just to make sure.” says the man, who had probably introduced himself as Jerome at the beginning of this boring and lengthy conversation.  
Or was it Joseph? She is no longer sure.

Konstantin nods, before turning to her, in search of her gaze. He wants to see mildness and a will to submit in there, so that's what she shows him, nodding back conscientiously.

“Can I go, now?” She smiles with her teeth bared, on edge and barely restraining herself from jumping on the armchair where she's been sitting for a ridiculously long time.

“You will go when I say you can, Astankova.” Jerome or Joseph or bloody Jeremy turns another page of her file, and reads some more from it out loud.  
More details from her past emerge, Anna's name is stated clear in there, her wanker of a husband too, and everything she did to him as well.

Plus, she doesn't really like being addressed by her real name these days. Her left eyebrow twitches, for only a split second, then she snorts, amused by this man's nerve.  
She can feel Konstantin at her side growing slightly concerned, and it puts her into a state of unrest.

“She's the right person for this, Jerome. She has flair, brains, and a brilliant temperament. What do you even worry about? She'll submit to assessment whenever you see fit, and I'll manage her in the meantime.”

Konstantin Vasiliev tries to reassure the man behind the desk, and it seems to work, for at last they're free to go.

Before they leave the office, though, Jerome calls her back one last time. A word of advice, perhaps, or a warning. “And I'd take a less traceable name, if I were you.”

 

*

 

She chooses Villanelle for herself. It is classy, impersonal, and most importantly, French.

She loves French. Anna taught her French and English when she was a kid, and she learned both at an unprecedented speed. _Child prodigy_ , she would call her at first. So she became fluent in German, too, and Dutch. All so she could keep impressing Anna.

Her new apartment is based in Paris. It is roomy, but scarcely furnished, so she orders some pieces of furniture online and sees that they are properly disposed when they are delivered. The most beautiful and pricey clothes are hanging in all three of her closets, and she feels a little thrill in her chest just by taking in the sight of their prized fabrics. It only lasts a moment, though. Dullness comes back to replace it in no time.

This is the life she has always wanted, and yet she still can't escape the numbness inside of her. It is blurry and formless, yet sharp enough to never let itself be forgotten. Fucking randoms off the street, hurting herself till the verge of faintness, savouring the most expensive delicacies; none of these things ever worked for her. She still feels numb all through them, and afterwards.

She wishes that killing people will give her some respite from the boredom that this emptiness leaves behind. It worked with Anna's dumb-ass husband. When she cut his penis off, and then conveyed all her rage in the act of mangling his pathetic, cockless body, she did definitely feel something then. That might do the trick again, and again, and again, assignment after assignment.

So she waits for Konstantin eagerly that day, sitting on the bed, dangling her long legs over the edge like a restless child. He's gonna give her her first assignment today.

The man opens the door with his own keys, then shouts his greetings down the corridor.

“Good morning, Oksana.” He doesn't even bother to come to the bedroom, so she has to go to him, in the kitchen, not without a hint of irritation. He is standing behind the counter, cooking what seems to be eggs.

“Actually, it's Villanelle, now.”

“Oh? Well, I like it. Good name. Very...” Vasiliev makes a pensive face, as he tries to think of a fitting adjective off the top of his head.

“ _French_?” Villanelle prompts harshly, not really in the mood for chitchatting with her handler. She just wants to skip all that nonsense, and get to the important stuff.

“Yes, indeed.” He stifles a little laugh, then lays the scrambled eggs in two clean plates and brings them to the table. “Let's have breakfast first.” Konstantin says, as if he has read Villanelle's mind just then.

“I am bored, Konstantin. I want to get down to business, you know what I mean?” She whines, rolling her r's even more in the process. Her Russian accent would give her away in a heartbeat, but she can make the best foreign accents impressions that Konstantin has ever heard, and that's also why he chose her.

She might be undisciplined, but her bloody streak and quick wits make up for it by far.

“So zealous, aren't you? Well, there you go, then.” He agrees, at last, still munching on eggs, then sliding a sealed parchment towards her seat.

She grabs the parchment earnestly, licking her lips at the prospect of the life she's gonna take this time. Her mind is already spinning with all the possibilities.  
Car accident? Poisoning? Stabbing? Strangling? Drowning? Or the good ol' gunshot to the head? Her employers left her complete freedom in that matter, as long as she didn't get caught.

Villanelle smiles faintly, as in a haze. It is not really a feeling, but still, it is something. The name she reads on there means nothing to her, she isn't allowed to inquire either, and even if she could, she still wouldn't give a damn. Whether her victims had a family, children, a wife, or a husband, a mother, siblings, or gave half of their money to charities every month, that simply wasn't Villanelle's concern.  
All she knows is that they must be some rich fellows who messed up with the wrong richer fellows. Whoever that is, their days are numbered. And that is enough for her.

 


End file.
